


if you show me real love, baby (i'll show you mine)

by ahatfullofoctarine (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Cooking, Banter, Canonical Character Death, Cussing, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 23:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16504772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ahatfullofoctarine
Summary: Matt snorted, and looked away, one hand coming up to hide his smile as he muttered ‘plus Coran’ to himself. “You’re a dick.”“True, but I’m also the dick  youmarried, so…” Shiro shrugged as he kept composed for the most part, mouth tugging at the seams, threatening to unravel.





	if you show me real love, baby (i'll show you mine)

**Author's Note:**

> for the [ShattSunday November prompt](https://shattsunday.tumblr.com/post/179648453150/shattsunday-challenge-november-prompts): Cooking is art, baking is science.
> 
> took a break from NaNoWriMo (ikr, only been 3 days) to churn this out, because i love me some domesticity

“And this is...?” Shiro trailed off, confident that Matt and his genius-brain would extrapolate the rest.

But also because he was fairly confident that, regardless of whether The Thing hidden beneath the silver cloche in front of him was ‘art' or ‘science’ - Shiro still had to _eat_ it.  ‘In sickness and in health, for better or worse’ - that whole schtick.

“It's spaghetti bolognese.” Matt answered pompously.

“ _Supposed_ to be? ' _Is actually_ '? Or ' _was previously_ '.” Shiro muttered, poking at the cloche. Working his way up to revealing the monstrosity underneath.

Matt's smile tightened, borderline murderous. He leaned forward with his palms on the counter, his voice sickly sweet. Light glinted off the tungsten carbide wrapped around his left ring finger, like a silent morse code warning Shiro off.

“What was that.  _Takashi_?”

Uh-oh, first names. Shiro knew he was treading dangerous territory, but hell, they were in the middle of an Intergalactic War, and danger was Team Voltron's lifeblood.

Naturally, he was doing the backstroke.

“I mean is it _really_ spaghetti bolognese?” Shiro said. Because last he checked, you couldn't procure beef from Unilu Swap Moons.  Unilu were good, but not _that_ good.  Actually, Unilu weren’t ‘good’ period, but whatever.

Matt picked an imaginary speck of lint off his tunic, looking bored. “I mean, you married _me_ , so...”

Classic Matt, deflecting.

Then again, it was also Classic Shiro for _prolonging_ the deflecting.

“What, like I hit you over the head so you were unconscious throughout the ceremony.” Shiro retorted, schooling his face into deadpan, fighting the laughter gathering like a storm in his chest. As a former Black Paladin he was well practiced in the art, but Matt had never been a subordinate. Equals from the get-go. It was a dynamic he was still getting used to - _on top of_ the marriage thing. Schtick. 

Besides, arguing with Matt was _so, much, fun_. Shiro appreciated the mental gymnastics for the stimulation it gave his synapses.

Among other parts of his anatomy. If Matt was cute when he got riled up; he sure as hell was _irresistible_ when he got frustrated.

“You said it, not me.” Matt stuck his tongue out - he was mature like that.

“Matthew, I have five paladins plus Coran ready to testify you to be frothing at the mouth while I signed the marriage license.”

Matt snorted, and looked away, one hand coming up to hide his smile as he muttered ‘plus Coran’ to himself. “You’re a dick.”

“True, but I’m also the dick   _you_ married, so…” Shiro shrugged as he kept composed for the most part, mouth tugging at the seams, threatening to unravel.

After Adam it felt too dangerous to hope again, but Matt had proven himself indestructible...

...to the point of annoying.   _Goddamn_ . With Matt's stubborn refusal to concede his ‘ace lab skills’ weren't transferable - read: incompatible - and that a kitchen was a _kitchen_ , _not_ a lab, Shiro knew innately as someone with first-hand experience in beating dead horses in pursuit of a dream, that the only reprieve was letting the dead horse beating run its course.

And remembering which cabinet in the sickbay they kept the Imodium.

 _And_ praying for the stick to snap from overuse. Matthew Holt’s Dead-Horse-Beating Stick was made of Vibranium, apparently.

“Well?” Matt demanded, hands on his hips, having recovered from that momentary display of weakness. “Bon appetit already!”

“ _Fine_.”

And Shiro did exactly that: reached around the counter, dragged Matt into his lap and kissed him. Matt punched him playfully in the chest, but other than that there wasn't any other resistance.

“You _ass_ .” Matt mumbled, lips moving lazily against Shiro's. Breathless to some degree. “It... _is_...spaghetti bolognese. I called in a favour with Rolo.  Piece of shit...I should divorce you right now...of all the... _ungrateful_...”

Some of the laughter Shiro had been holding in spilled over, rumbling low in his throat. Matt’s fingers curled into his hair in response.

“Do I want to know _that_ story?”

“Takashi.” Matt poked him in the rib. “Do _you_ _want_ to stop making out.”

Shiro snorted and pulled him tighter against him in answer.  

Lance, whistling as he entered the galley, made himself at home opposite the two love birds, uncovered the cloche and tucked in, taking huge satisfaction as he slurped a particularly long strand of spaghetti, marinara speckling onto his chin.  

“Suckers.” He snickered.

He settled in for the rest of the show, until Shiro's arm, possibly sentient, smacked him upside the back of the head. After which, the Red Paladin beat a hasty exit, leaving an empty plate stained with marinara in his wake. 

Ever the multi-tasker, that Shiro.


End file.
